


Comfortable Territory

by accidentallymelted



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallymelted/pseuds/accidentallymelted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit, man, you’ve got your eye on someone? Who is it? Do I know her? What’s the hold up?” Shitty asks.</p><p>Jack furrows his brow, confused. “Uh, what? Shitty, no, there’s no girl-”</p><p>“A guy?” Shitty interrupts, clearly having entirely missed the point. Jack opens his mouth to point his out, but Shitty beats him to it. “Oh, shit. Bitty?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfortable Territory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zenelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/gifts).



> This is for Zene, who asked for "Jack/Bitty, All Haus friendship, anything at all" - so I took a couple of popular tropes and stuck 'em in a blender and this is what resulted. I hope you like it - this was fun to write. Many thanks to [Jess](http://bropunzeling.tumblr.com) for being my initial sounding board for this fic, and to [Kris](http://rewindthat6.tumblr.com) and [Kenarik](http://kenarik.tumblr.com) for betaing!
> 
> Please note that I have taken a number of liberties throughout this fic with just about everything, but probably most noticeably with NCAA D1 Men's Ice Hockey and their schedules. They don't actually work like I've portrayed them here.

Jack resists the urge to collapse into a panting heap like the rest of his teammates. Coach wasn’t pleased with their effort level, last game, and has made no secret of it, capping a long practice with a vicious bag-skate. Next to Jack, Shitty is sprawled on the ice, moaning faintly. Ransom and Holster had both tried to lean on each other and collapsed in a flailing pile of limbs. The frogs have dropped to the ice, stunned expressions on their faces. The only other person still standing is Bittle, and the way he’s leaning up against the half-boards by the bench indicates that it might be the only thing keeping him upright.

Jack gives his teammates a few moments to catch their breath (and make sure his legs are still working) before clearing his throat. “That was better, but we still need to step it up. BC will take advantage of any mistakes we make next week, so we can’t make any.”

The team groans in unison, starting to pick themselves up off the ice. “What crawled up his ass and died,” Jack overhears Ransom muttering to Shitty. He pretends not to hear it, or Shitty’s snort of agreement.

He’s quiet in the showers and in the locker room, but no more than normal. He’s always glaringly, achingly aware of “normal,” but his awareness sharpens to a fine point when he’s unsettled in some way. No one comments on his quiet in the locker room, although Bittle and Shitty are exchanging speculative looks where they think he can’t see. Jack escapes as soon as he’s got clothes on, both from a desire to get as far away from those looks as possible and from a need to work on his paper on Cheng Shih.

It’s coming up on finals week, and the libraries are full of students feverishly studying. Jack sets himself up opposite a frazzled-looking engineering student whose papers are threatening to explode out and engulf the table. He can’t tell if she’s ignoring the way he keeps shoving them back onto her side of the table, or if she just hasn’t noticed yet, too busy scribbling incomprehensible calculations into her notebook.

He gets a couple of pages written before he starts getting hungry. He thinks about trying to stick it out for a while longer, but his stomach growls, earning him dirty looks from the couple of students around who don’t have headphones in. He packs up reluctantly - he’d had a good spot with a power outlet, and the usual library etiquette gets thrown out the window regularly at Samwell during finals - if you’re not occupying your spot, it’s fair game.

The Haus is mostly quiet when he gets back - Dex and Chowder are playing Smash Bros in the lounge, but it’s oddly subdued. Ransom must have been by rocking the crazy eyes recently, Jack thinks, amused, as he grabs the container of leftover chicken and dumplings from the fridge and pops it in the microwave. One of the best things about Bittle having moved into the Haus is the perpetual presence in the fridge of some sort of delicious leftovers. There’s a blueberry pie cooling on the window ledge, too, and Jack finds himself eyeing it as the scent of chicken and dumplings fills the kitchen. He gives in as the microwave beeps and cuts himself a slice, maneuvering so that he can balance all of his food as he retreats up the stairs to his room and sets up his desk. He sets the pie off to the side, a reward for finishing his paper, and dives back in, absentmindedly munching on the chicken and dumplings as he goes. He’s working on his next-to-last paragraph when Shitty knocks on his door and walks in without waiting.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Shitty begins, and Jack groans.

“Shits, I’m almost done with this paper, can it wait?” he demands, glaring up at his best friend.

“Sure,” Shitty says amiably, flopping down on Jack’s bed and stretching out. Jack thinks about protesting but it’s probably about four years too late, and at least he’s wearing boxers this time. He tries to get back into the flow of his paper, but Shitty has interrupted his train of thought, so after several minutes of staring blankly at his screen, wondering where the hell he’d been going with this, Jack caves and turns, popping out his earbuds.

“What,” he asks, irritably, and scowls when he sees Shitty swallowing the last bite of his pie. “Hey, that was mine!”

“You snooze you lose, bro,” Shitty shrugs. “So, the boys and I are worried about you.”

Jack feels his shoulders creeping up towards his ears and makes a deliberate effort to relax. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve been rockin’ the hockey-bot impression a fuckin’ lot recently,” Shitty says, sitting up and crossing his legs to show he means business. “Plus I can’t remember the last time you got laid.”

“That’s none of your business,” Jack snaps, feeling his cheeks heat up. Shitty cocks his head.

“You say so, bro, but you’ve been a fuckin’ nightmare recently. You’re never this cranky when you’re getting laid, so. We need to find you a date.”

“No.” Jack is very definite about this. The last time Shitty had tried to set him up on a date, it hadn’t exactly gone well - she’d been an intimidating-looking girl with half a dozen piercings and more tattoos, and more importantly she hadn’t cared about hockey at all. They’d managed to string together three whole sentences worth of conversation the entire night, and Jack had sworn off being set up ever again. Not that it had stopped Shitty from trying.

“Yes,” Shitty says, equally definite. “Man, if you don’t unclench Rans is gonna snap and straight up try to murder you in the fuckin’ face, if Holster doesn’t deck you first for winding Rans up. He’s a delicate coral reef, you know the drill.”

Jack fights the overwhelming urge to bury his face in his hands. “I’m working on it,” he mutters.

Shitty perks up. “Shit, man, you’ve got your eye on someone? Who is it? Do I know her? What’s the hold up?”

Jack furrows his brow, confused. “Uh, what? Shitty, no, there’s no girl-”

“A guy?” Shitty interrupts, clearly having entirely missed the point. Jack opens his mouth to point his out, but Shitty beats him to it. “Oh, shit. _Bitty?_ ”

“Huh?” Jack is totally lost by this point. He’s really not sure how they got here, and he must spend too long blinking in confusion, because Shitty takes it as confirmation. He flails and falls off of Jack’s bed in his excitement.

“I fuckin’ knew it! Oh, man, wait until I tell Rans and Holster - they told me I was crazy!” He picks himself up and bounds over to Jack, folding him up in a hug that smells strongly of weed. “I’m really happy for you guys, really,” he says, squeezing him tightly, and then bolts out of Jack’s room before he can say anything else.

Jack stares at the door, replaying the conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he’d said or done to give Shitty the impression that he - that Bittle -

Someone knocks on his door and Bittle pokes his head around the jam, a perplexed expression on his face. “Jack, why did Shitty just tell me that I need to be taking better care of your needs? And that he’s very happy for us?”

0o0o0o0o0

Bittle thinks the whole thing is hysterical.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Jack mutters, flopping down on his bed and crossing his arms over his chest as he frowns at Bittle, who’s actually curled up into a ball on the floor, laughing. Jack didn’t think people actually _did_ that. He’s pretty sure that the Bittle he’d met at the beginning of last year wouldn’t have done this either - Shitty is a terrible influence.

“Yes, it is,” Bittle wheezes. “Oh my god, Jack, this is-” he breaks off into giggles. “I can’t believe Shitty thought we were actually _dating_ ,” he manages, then trails off into laughter again. Jack is - a little hurt, actually.

“Sorry the idea of dating me is so ridiculous,” he says, and he means for it to come out dry and teasing, he really does, but some wires must cross between his brain and his mouth because it comes out sounding wounded instead. Bittle stops laughing mid-giggle.

“I mean, I get that I’m not exactly a catch, but-”

“Are you actually serious right now,” Bittle says, staring up at him. “ _You’re_ not a catch? Why would _you_ want to date _me?_ ”

Jack blinks. “I -” He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”

“I’m not exactly your usual type,” Bittle says, dry as a bone. “What with the being _male_ , and all.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Bittle’s mouth drops open. “ _Jack_ ,” he says, hushed. Jack feels his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning bright red and looks away. “Really?”

“I’m not - ruling it out,” he says, staring determinedly at the wall. The room is silent for a moment, and then Jack finds himself with a lap full of small southern baker. He freezes, not entirely sure what to do with his hands, but Bittle just hugs him tighter. Tentatively, Jack wraps his arms around Bittle, who pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Thank you for trusting me with this moment,” he says, and Jack raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s what Shitty told me when I came out to him. I thought it was appropriate.”

Jack chokes on a laugh as Bittle climbs off his lap to sit next to him on the bed. “So, does Shitty know? I mean, I assume Shitty knows, or else why would he have jumped to conclusions about us dating, but I don’t really like to assume, because you know it makes an ass out of you and me, and-”

“Breathe, Bittle,” Jack says, amused. “Yeah, Shitty knows - I came out to him sophomore year. He said the same thing.”

“ _Good,_ ” Bittle says emphatically. “I mean, I’m glad. Shitty is a great person to come out to - he’s very supportive. And ooh! I’ll make you a cake!” He hops up off the bed. “What kind of cake would you like?”

Jack is never sure how Bittle’s mind works, but that’s an impressive jump even for him. “Maple,” he says, basically at random, and Bittle makes a face that somehow manages to be fond and amused and mocking all at the same time.

“Maple cake, then, coming right up,” he says, and vanished out into the hallway. Jack isn’t sure what just happened, but apparently he’s going to be getting maple cake. He’s just about to put his headphones back in and try to get back to work on his paper when he remembers that he and Bittle had never actually figured out what to do about the fact that Shitty apparently thought they were _dating_.

“Damn it!”

0o0o0o0o0

“What are we going to do about the fact that Shitty thinks we’re dating?” Jack asks, having finally managed to corner Bittle in the kitchen. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Bittle has been avoiding him all day - or at least, avoiding being alone in a room with him. Bittle tilts his head, confused.

“Well, I guess I thought that we’d just tell him that we aren’t,” he says, and Jack has to admit that it sounds like the easiest thing to do. Except -

“But if we do that, Shitty’s going to be all over me to let him set me up with a date,” Jack says, plaintive. Bittle raises his eyebrows and Jack sighs. “He’s got this idea, that I’ve been in a bad mood recently and that dating someone would cheer me up.”

“Would it?” Bittle has an unreadable look on his face. Jack’s mouth twists down.

“So you think I’ve been in a bad mood recently too?” He definitely isn’t feeling bitter about the fact that he hasn’t noticed, if he has been snapping at people. Not at all.

Bittle shrugs. “You’ve been wound pretty tight - tighter than normal, even. _Would_ dating someone cheer you up?”

“ _No._ ” Jack is very definite about that. “And anyway, Shitty’s awful at setting me up on dates.” He hears the hint of a whine creeping into his voice and grimaces. “None of them have been good. Not one in three years.”

“So - what are you saying, Jack? That we just let him think that we’re dating?”

“Yes! And, well - Lardo, and Rans, and Holtzy, and probably Chowder and Dex and Nursey and maybe even Johnson, at this point - Shitty’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut.”

Bittle’s face is still unreadable. “So, everyone then.” Jack feels himself flushing a dull red but forces himself to meet Bittle’s eyes. He nods. Bittle purses his lips like he’s thinking about it.

“Please,” Jack says. He hates asking, but the idea of facing Shitty at his matchmaking worst just now is making him feel sick to his stomach. Bittle makes a face.

“Twist my arm,” he sighs, but the corners of his mouth are turning up. “Okay, but you’re coming to my room tonight after dinner for a quick lesson in pop culture references. No _way_ the team believes I’m dating someone who doesn’t know who Nicki Minaj is.”

0o0o0o0o0

Ransom and Holster corner Jack on the landing outside his room before breakfast the next morning. He’s actually surprised that it took them this long.

“Jack, bro, what’s this I hear about you and Bitty?” Rans asks, looking up from where he’s leaning against the wall outside of Bittle’s room,  fucking around on his phone.

“You’re dating Bitty now?” Holster contributes, leaning against the wall outside of Jack’s own room and peering at him overtop his glasses. “First we’ve heard of it.”

Jack winces. He’s not sure what, exactly, Shitty’s told the rest of the team, and he and Bittle hadn’t really come up with a story to explain why they were suddenly dating. He’d meant to bring it up last night - and then spent the evening watching music videos and clips of TV shows and pretending to still be lost even when he wasn’t, because Bittle gets hilariously huffy and Southern when Jack mixes up the names of different celebrities.

“Um,” he says, stalling, but Ransom and Holster are both already rolling their eyes at him.

“If you hurt him, we will hurt you,” Holster says, and Ransom nods, coming up to stand on Jack’s other side. They’re both bigger than he is, and Ransom’s already started to get twitchy with the approach of finals - Bittle had muttered something last night about trying to get him to cut down on his caffeine intake, and Jack had told him to give it up as a lost cause - so the crazy eyes are out in full force. Jack fights the urge to take a step back just as Bittle comes out of his room and pauses at the sight of all three of them in the hallway, his customary smile slipping a little.

“Mornin’,” he greets them, looking a little uncertain. Jack shrugs at him when Ransom and Holster aren’t looking.

“Morning bro,” Ransom greets him, reaching out to pull Bittle into a hug while Holster ruffles his hair. Jack can’t help but feel that their gazes are a little pointed, when they turn back to face him, and he has to fight to keep his shoulders from coming up defensively. He clears his throat.

“Good morning,” he says, pasting a smile on his face and hoping that it doesn’t look as wooden as it feels. “Ready for class?”

Bittle nods, and the two of them head down the stairs together. Jack can feel Ransom and Holster’s gazes on his back, and with their warning ringing in his ears he reaches out and grabs Bittle’s hand halfway down the stairs. Bittle jumps a little, startled, and looks between their hands and Jack’s face with a confused expression before it smooths out into his normal sunny grin. Jack ignores the way that the tips of his ears have turned red and reaches into the kitchen to snag a pair of blueberry muffins to share on their way out the door.

“What was _that_ all about?” Bittle wants to know once he’s finished his muffin. Jack coughs a little, embarrassed.

“They told me to make sure not to hurt you,” he mumbles. Bittle lets out a startled laugh. “They’re good friends,” Jack says, a little quiet, and Bittle nods.

“They’re very good friends, if a little misinformed,” he says, and reaches out to take Jack’s hand again. Jack tenses up for a second, then relaxes. If this is going to be a thing, he should probably try to get used to it.

0o0o0o0o0

After class, Jack means to go for a run but Bittle drags him into his room and shuts the door, putting his hands on his hips. “If we’re going to do this, we should talk about it,” he says, very firmly, and Jack reluctantly admits that this is probably a good idea, even if he desperately wants to go hide in his own room and never come out again.

Bittle is still staring at him expectantly, so Jack belatedly nods. “Okay,” he says. Bittle looks like he’s waiting for something, so Jack asks, “What did you want to talk about?”

“This,” Bittle says, waving his hands between the two of them. “Jack, what are we _doing?_ ”

Jack is a little lost. “Pretending to be dating?” he tries. Bittle lets his hands fall to his sides. “You have to give me more to go on,” Jack defends himself. “I can’t read your mind.”

“. . . . Fair,” Bittle admits after a moment. “Okay. So we’re going to pretend to be dating. What exactly is that going to entail?” When Jack still looks confused, he elaborates. “Pet names, holding hands, kissing, eating together. . . “

“You already call everyone sugar and honey,” Jack interrupts before the list can get any longer. He already wants to sink through the floor. “And I held your hand this morning.”

“So are we just going to keep doing that?” Jack can’t figure out the look on Bittle’s face. He looks a little like he might be relieved, a little like he might be disappointed, and a little like he might be laughing at Jack on the inside. Jack shrugs.

“I mean, unless you think there’s something else we need to do,” he says. Bittle bites his lip.

“We could probably - hang out a little more? If we’re dating, I mean, everyone would expect us to be spending time together,” he says in a rush. Jack thinks about it for a moment, then nods.

“That makes sense.” Bittle smiles at him, and Jack finds himself smiling back.

“Okay, good. Now shoo - I’ve got to work on my final project for class.” Jack allows himself to be shoved out of Bittle’s room. There’s an excited squeaking sound behind him, and he turns to find Chowder standing there, eyes bright.

“So it’s true! I mean, Shitty said, but he likes to try and mess with the frogs, and - I’m just so happy for you guys!”

He dashes in and gives Jack a hug before dashing off again. Jack stands there in the hallway for a moment, utterly bewildered, before deciding to try not to worry about it.

0o0o0o0o0

The next two weeks pass in a haze of stress and caffeine, as everyone crams for finals. Jack’s still battling with his thesis – he has to have a rough draft to turn into his professor by the end of the semester – so he’s stressing about that in addition to finals and the last couple of games of the year before they get a brief break to go home for Christmas.

Jack would happily spend all of his time between now and Christmas locked in his room, only coming out for hockey and exams, but unfortunately the rest of the team has other plans.

Like this:

“C’mon, bro, you’re going to get agoraphobia if you stay in here forever,” Holster says, hauling him out around dinner time – Jack thinks – on the Tuesday of the last week of class.

“I will _not_ ,” Jack protests, but Holster just peers at him over his glasses in that disappointed way he has and Jack ends up coming to a team dinner, where he and Bittle sit awkwardly next to each other and attempt to have a conversation. It doesn’t go well at first, but that’s more because the entire team (and Lardo) aren’t even trying to be subtle about eavesdropping than anything else. He and Bittle have plenty of things they can talk about – Jack still has questions about some of those TV shows Bittle was showing him the other day. It takes a few awkward minutes – Jack tries glaring at the table, but Shitty, Lardo, Ransom and Holster are immune to his glares and the rest of the team look like they’re slowly building up their own immunities. Only the frogs duck away from him anymore – but Bittle warms to his subject, eventually, and becomes very animated, waving his arms all around to illustrate his points. Jack would reach out to hold one of his hands – he thinks this is probably a good time – but it doesn’t seem like a good idea when Bittle’s being so animated and anyway he needs both of his hands to eat.

Bittle must be having the same sort of thoughts, because halfway through his diatribe on why _How To Get Away With Murder_ is the best show ever (complete with occasional inputs from Shitty, who thinks that show is “the shit”) he reaches out and hooks their ankles together under the table. Jack does his very best not to freeze up or act any differently, but he’s not sure how successful he is.

Or this:

Ransom bangs down his door late in the afternoon of the first study day, a terrifying gleam in his eye. Jack opens the door and eyes him warily.

“Mario Kart tournament, right now,” Ransom says. Jack follows him downstairs, because Ransom around finals is unpredictable and touchy. He spends the vast majority of his time buried in his coursework, but occasionally emerges for things like, for example, a sudden-death Mario Kart tournament, or to destroy all comers at beer pong. He then disappears back into his studies. Jack doesn’t understand it, but it seems to work for him.

Jack seats himself next to Bittle, who smiles brightly up at him and takes his hand as soon as he sits down. Bittle has clearly already had a couple of the drinks that Holster is handing people. Jack accepts a beer, because these tournaments are always a shitshow, and watches, amused, as Bittle proceeds to livetweet the first several rounds. When Bittle’s spelling gets bad enough that it’s obvious that he’s drunk, Jack confiscates his phone. Bitty twists around and pouts up at him.

“Jaaaaaaaack, give it baaaaaaaaack,” he whines, then pauses to giggle at his rhyme. Jack refrains from rolling his eyes, but barely, and shakes his head.

“You can have it back after the tournament,” he says, and Bittle’s pout intensifies.

“But I want it noooooooow,” he complains, leaning over and trying to pull his phone away from Jack. Amused, Jack holds it away from him – and then further away as Bittle climbs into his lap to get to it. “Jaaaaaaaaack,” he says again. “C’mon.”

Jack is about to retort when Shitty clears his throat from a couple of feet away. “Yo, Jack, you’re up.”

Jack shifts Bittle out of his lap – gently - and pockets his phone, ignoring his spluttering protests. He then proceeds to lose spectacularly to Nursey at the Rainbow Road. He gives Bittle his phone back after the tournament is over, although Bittle spends the rest of the tournament snuggled up to him, trying to sneak it out of his pocket.

Or this:

Jack is on his way back to his room to take a long-overdue nap, having just finished his second-to-last final, when he overhears Bitty talking in his room. He thinks for a moment that Bitty’s talking to Shitty, and is about to stick his head in and say hello (and prove to Shitty that he’s not dead. Shits has been texting him increasingly tragic emoticons since Jack implemented his policy of avoidance before this most recent final) when he realizes that Bitty is actually on the phone with someone.

“. . . no, mother, I _know_ – I’m going to!”

That sounds like a conversation he _definitely_ doesn’t want to interrupt, he thinks, backing away from the door. He’s too slow, though – the door slams open, and Bitty’s standing there, looking red-faced and maybe a bit teary, his phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that Jack’s there.

“I _know_ that the deadline’s coming up – well, it’s a big decision! I don’t want to pick the wrong thing – yes. Yes, I will. I’ll see you soon. Love you, bye,” he says, hanging up. He glances up, and jumps when he notices Jack. “Oh, Jack! You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Jack says. “I just got done with a final, and I was on my way to take a nap.” He hesitates. “I’ve only got one more final, and it’s not for another couple of days, so – do you want to hang out after my nap?”

Bitty smiles. “That sounds good. I’ll be in the kitchen – come find me when you wake up.”

“Cool,” Jack manages, nodding awkwardly at Bitty and backing into his room. He leans against his door, suppressing a wince. “ _Cool_ ,” he mutters, then shakes his head. Hopefully his brain will feel more like functioning after he’s had a nap.

0o0o0o0o0

“What’s on tap today?” Shitty asks, wandering into the kitchen later that day in a pair of briefs that cover basically nothing. Lardo lets out a wolf-whistle of appreciation from where she’s kicking her heels against the counter and quizzing Jack on the finer points of the Hundred Years’ War. Bitty looks up from whatever he’s doing over there at the stove and gives Shitty a wan smile.

“Chocolate soufflé,” he says, and goes back to doing mysterious things with a saucepan and melted chocolate. Shitty’s eyebrows go up, and he turns to Jack, clearly trying to communicate something. Jack frowns, but even after four years he doesn’t really speak Mustache and Eyebrows. He looks over at Lardo for a translation.

She lets out a sigh that gets lost in the sound of Bitty’s electric mixer and hops off the counter, leaving Jack’s flashcards there in a messy stack. “ _Talk_ to him, dumbass,” she advises, and snakes an arm through Shitty’s, tugging him out of the kitchen. Jack can feel his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion - she’d said _talk to him_ , but then - oh. Talk to _Bitty_.

He has a brief moment of panic where he wonders why they decided that _he_ was the person for this job, then remembers that he and Bitty are supposed to be boyfriends. He wipes suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans and picks up the stack of flashcards that Lardo had left on the counter, flipping through them for something to do while Bitty bangs around with his pans - “ _Ramekins_ , Jack, honestly” - until the kitchen goes quiet and Jack knows he’s put the soufflé in the oven.

“Uh,” he says, and stops, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. He’s the absolute worst person on the team to talk to about _feelings_ , and he knows it. “Um, Bitty?”

“Hmm?” Bitty’s started carrying his dishes to the sink and is pulling out his rubber gloves to wash them, but he still shoots a distracted smile at Jack. Jack clears his throat.

“You know, you can talk to me,” he says, and Bitty actually looks up at that, focusing on Jack for the first time this afternoon. “If you’re feeling, like, stressed about something?” He fights the urge to fidget, gripping his flashcards hard to stop himself. He’s not meeting Bitty’s eyes, at all, but in his peripheral vision Bitty looks - fond?

“Thank you, Jack,” he says, coming over and giving Jack a hug that smells of melted chocolate and butter. “And I appreciate the offer. But, no offense? You’re probably not the person I would talk to about feelings.”

Jack nods, a little jerkily, and goes back to his flashcards as Bitty starts scrubbing dishes. He’s relieved, he tells himself. Definitely relieved. He’d be awful at having a conversation about feelings, and he knows it, and he’s glad that Bitty knows it too. He determinedly ignores the squirmy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one that feels a little bit like hurt.

0o0o0o0o0

Jack is the first one back from Christmas vacation - he loves his family, he really does, but all his father wants to talk about is which NHL teams might sign him, and how well his hockey is going, and whether or not Coach is going to keep “that Bittle kid” on his wing, and he’s grateful to get a reprieve. He hasn’t decided what he’s going to do about the NHL yet, and his mother has started giving him knowing looks when she hears Bitty’s name, and he _really_ doesn’t want to think about that.

He has the Haus to himself for almost an entire 24 hours before Shitty, Ransom, Holster and Lardo show up, spilling through the front door in a tangle of arms and legs and suitcases and laughter. Jack hears them come in and comes down the stairs to greet them. Holster’s cut his hair over the break and it looks _terrible_. Shitty and Lardo are laughing at him as Ransom wrestles with him, trying either to ruffle it up or shove a snapback over it, Jack can’t actually tell, and he’s not sure why he missed them.

“Yo, Jack!” Jack tears his eyes away from whatever Ransom and Holster are doing just in time to brace himself as Lardo and Shitty both launch themselves at him at once. He catches them - barely, but he does - and smirks a little. In their ongoing competition, the score is now Zimmermann 3, Shitty&Lardo 2. Lardo smiles up at him as she gives him a hug.

“Happy New Year, Jack! Did you have a good break?” She ducks out of the way as Shitty shifts to try and climb onto Jack’s back. Jack laughs as he pushes Shitty away, ignoring his pout.

“It was pretty good,” he tells Lardo. “How was yours?”

“Great! Always good to see the fam. I brought back treats, too.”

Shitty has finally given up on climbing onto Jack’s back and is sitting on the stairs, but he jumps upright at this. “Treats? Fuck yeah!” Even Ransom and Holster stop wrestling and come over to crowd around Lardo, pulling out the enormous puppy-dog eyes. She rolls her eyes but opens her suitcase, pulling out a pair of Tupperware containers. She opens them with a flourish.

“Almond cookies, and lai wong bao,” she announces. She snatches the containers away as Shitty makes grabby hands for them. “Nuh uh, I want to set aside a couple for Bitty and the frogs, first, otherwise the four of you will eat them all.”

Jack feels like he should protest, but it’s a fair assessment. The four of them _had_ eaten all of the desserts Lardo had brought back after Christmas the last time, after all. Her family makes delicious food.

“Eat all what?” comes a tired southern drawl from the door, and Jack almost sprains something, he spins around so fast. Bitty’s standing just inside the door with his suitcase, looking drained and pale but for his nose, which is bright red.

“Lardo’s desserts,” Jack manages, answering Bitty’s question, but he thinks it probably got drowned out by the chorus of “BITTY!”s that rang out from Shitty, Ransom, Holster and Lardo. Holster, who’s closest to the door, grabs him up in a hug and Jack finds himself feeling oddly bereft.

“What the fuck, dude, I thought you weren’t getting in until later!” Shitty says, grabbing Bitty when Holster’s done hugging him. Bitty smiles, but it’s weak, not up to his usual wattage.

“Usually there’s more of a delay in Louisville,” he explains, hugging Ransom once Shitty releases him from his grasp. When he turns to Jack, his smile brightens, and he reaches out to tug Jack into a hug. Jack returns the hug, feeling something in him loosen, and keeps one arm draped around Bitty’s shoulders after he turns back to the rest of the group. “I factored that into when I was expecting to get back, except there wasn’t a delay this time, so I’m early. Anyway, what are y’all going to eat all of?”

“I brought back treats,” Lardo explains, showing Bitty the Tupperware containers. He reaches out and takes one of each, popping the almond cookie into his mouth first and humming with pleasure.

“Mmm, this is really good! Can I have the recipe, or is it a family secret?” Lardo’s cheeks flush with pleasure and she shrugs.

“I’ll ask my bà nội,” she says, as Bitty finishes the almond cookie in two bites and licks his fingers clean. Jack determinedly does not think about why the tips of his ears might be heating up, but Shitty sends him a shrewd glance and starts hustling Ransom and Holster out of the hall (to many complaints about why he’s taking them away from the food) as Bitty bites into the lai wong bao and his eyes close in pleasure. Jack swallows. Lardo winks at him as she vanishes into the kitchen to put the treats away, and Bitty opens his eyes and seems surprised to see that they’re alone in the hallway.

“Where did everyone go?” he asks, confused, and Jack coughs awkwardly.

“I think Shitty wanted to give us privacy or something,” he mutters, and Bitty immediately turns bright red.

“Oh - oh,” he stutters, and Jack is suddenly _very_ interested in the pattern of stains on the hall rug.

“Did you have a good holiday?” he offers, after a long pause, risking a look up. Bitty’s blush has faded, and he’s back to looking pale and exhausted. Jack frowns.

“It was good,” Bitty says, and then sneezes. He looks surprised by the sneeze. Jack is not.

“Tell me about it?” he asks, picking up Bitty’s suitcase and carrying it up to their floor. Bitty tries to protest at first but Jack ignores him, so Bitty starts telling him about the terrible Christmas sweaters his mother had made for him and his father, and the recipes they tried out, and caroling, as he follows Jack up the stairs. Jack drops Bitty’s suitcase off in his room and waits until Bitty’s done rambling about his holiday before ducking into his own room and bringing Bitty a bottle of Vitamin C.

“Here,” he says, handing it over. “Try not to get sick, okay?”

Bitty takes the bottle, looking charmed. “I’ll try,” he promises. Jack isn’t sure what to do, so he reaches out and hauls Bitty into a hug.

“Welcome back,” he mutters, before fleeing to his room to try and figure out what the hell just happened.

0o0o0o0o0

“I thought you were going to try not to get sick,” are Jack’s first words to Bitty when he sees him in the kitchen the next morning. Bitty sniffs and wipes his nose, looking haggard.

“Sorry,” he croaks, and he sounds so bad that Ransom, who’d just walked into the kitchen, physically recoils and hides behind Jack, as though Jack can shield him from the germs.

“ _Bro_ ,” Shitty says with feeling from the table, and Jack reaches over and plucks the spatula from Bitty’s hand, shoving him away from the stove gently.

“Go lay down, you can’t cook like this,” he says, his voice gruff. “You’ll get everyone sick,” he adds, when Bitty looks mutinous.

“Are you sure,” he starts, reaching for his spatula, but Jack holds it up and out of his reach. It’s even easier than usual, since Bitty looks like he’s about to fold over and collapse on the floor at any moment.

“I can make scrambled eggs, Bittle,” he says, and raises his eyebrows at Shitty, who takes the hint and hustles Bitty out of the kitchen, and hopefully up to his room to go back to bed. Jack doesn’t know how Bitty dragged himself downstairs if he feels half as bad as he looks.

He turns to the stove, ignoring Ranson’s skeptical expression with the ease of long practice as he adds butter to the pan on the stove and cracks eggs into it. He’s stirring everything together when Holster comes into the kitchen, yawning, and asks in a sleepy, confused voice, “Why’s Jack making breakfast? Where’s Bitty?”

“Bitty’s sick,” Jack says, poking viciously at the eggs with one hand and reaching around for the salt and pepper with the other. He seasons the eggs and gives them a final stir, looking them over with a critical eye. He nods when they’re finished and reaches over to start dishing them out. Shitty, who’s come back from dropping Bitty off, takes his and starts eating immediately. Ransom and Holster both look at the plates that Jack hands them with what Jack feels are frankly insulting looks of trepidation.

“For fuck’s sake,” he snaps. “I’m perfectly capable of making scrambled eggs.” He dishes his own eggs up with a little more force than is strictly necessary. Holster is still eyeing his eggs with concern, but Ransom shrugs and takes a bite. His surprised noise of enjoyment is both gratifying and annoying, but Jack chooses to ignore it as Ransom starts shoveling the eggs into his mouth with enthusiasm. Holster looks at him like he’s lost his mind until he tries a bite of his own eggs and his eyes widen. Jack does _not_ feel smug.

When he’s done with his eggs, Jack puts his dishes away and pops some bread into the toaster. He pours a glass of orange juice while he’s waiting, and butters the toast when it pops out. Shitty, Ransom and Holster are all watching him like he’s fascinating. “What?” he snaps finally.

“Observe,” Shitty says, pulling out his David Attenborough impression, which is _terrible_. “The wild Zimmermann out of its natural habitat, attempting to take care of its mate - ouch!” he ducks out of the way as Jack throws a fork at him.

“Shut up,” Jack mumbles. “I’d do the same thing if anyone on the team was sick.” That is met with three flat, unimpressed stares, and Jack flees the kitchen before they can say anything else.

Bitty is in bed, tucked up under the covers and sneezing miserably when Jack cautiously opens his door. He looks up and smiles wanly at Jack. “Usurper,” he teases, before breaking off into another burst of sneezing. Jack is torn between wanting to stay as far away as possible, so that he doesn’t catch whatever it is, and - horrifyingly - wanting to cross over and smooth Bitty’s hair off his forehead and make sure he’s comfortable. He’s not sure where these feelings came from, but he doesn’t like them, so he does his best to shove them away.

“I brought you orange juice and toast,” he says, crossing to Bitty and almost shoving them in his face. Bitty takes the toast and juice warily, and Jack backs away again. Bitty takes a cautious sip of the orange juice, but it goes badly when he’s caught in a fit of sneezing in the middle of swallowing. He goes bright red and sputters, orange juice going everywhere, and Jack backs away because his instinct is to get closer and help and _when did that happen?_

“I’ll go and get you some tissues,” he mutters, and flees before he can have more strange and confusing feelings.

0o0o0o0o0

Jack spends the next 72 hours compulsively bringing Bitty things - more orange juice, some water, another tissue box, a thermometer, cold medicine, more toast - and then fleeing. Bitty tries to talk to him the first several times it happens, but Jack mumbles a few things about wanting him to get better for their first game and Bitty gives up. He drags himself to his classes, and then back to his room, and is taking a lot of naps. Jack is just glad that they don’t have practice for another couple of days, but Bitty seems much better by the end of the third day, and is up and cheerfully rattling around the kitchen on the fourth morning. Jack frowns at him worriedly and hovers.

“Jack, I feel _fine_ ,” Bitty says, after Jack asks him for the third time whether he’s sure he’s really better. “All I’ve got left is a little sniffle. I’ll be fine for practice later and the game tomorrow. Now shoo.” He puts his hands on his hips and stares sternly at Jack, who suppresses the feeling that he’s slinking out of the kitchen with his tail between his legs and goes to find Shitty.

Shitty and Lardo are building snowmen on the Haus lawn - or, well, Shitty is building snowmen while Lardo bosses him around and occasionally jumps in to fix something he’s doing “wrong.” Jack eyes the snowmen for a moment - they’re oddly abstract, and he wonders what art class Lardo’s taking this semester - before going over to stand next to Lardo, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.

“Bits kick you out of the kitchen?” she asks, giving him a sideways grin. Jack’s eyebrows draw down.

“No,” he says, well aware that she knows he’s lying. She laughs.

“Shits, it needs to be longer - yeah, like that.” She turns back to Jack. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, and she pats him on the arm.

“Your elaborate courting rituals are cute, but you should probably hurry it up,” she says. “You’ll need to have your head in the game these next couple of weeks.”

Jack buries his nose in his scarf and steadfastly pretends to have no idea what she’s talking about. Shitty lets out a whoop of triumph as he manages to balance the cylindrical log he’s made out of snow on top of the pyramid he’d previously constructed that turns into a surprised yelp when he lets go of it and it tips over, covering his front with snow. Jack barks out a laugh as Lardo giggles, and Shitty turns to them both with a manic gleam in his eye and two fists full of snow. Jack ducks out of the way just in time - Lardo is not so lucky, but in the ensuing free-for-all Jack manages to push thoughts of Bitty and feelings aside.

Practice goes well, as does their first game of the new semester, but he finds himself avoiding Bitty - their class schedules are completely different this semester, which helps, and they have a two week break in the schedule this year so Coach has given them a week to get settled into their classes before kicking them back into gear. Bitty tries to knock on his door a couple of times in the evening, when they would usually hang out and watch TV (they’d gone and gotten addicted to _How to Get Away With Murder_ and _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ last semester), but Jack turns up the music in his headphones and concentrates fiercely on his thesis, and eventually Bitty takes the hint and goes away. Bitty’s wearing a confused expression all the time now, and he’s acting very cheerful but in a brittle sort of way. Shitty’s taken to glaring at Jack when he sees him, the frogs have started giving both Jack and Bitty a wide berth, and even Ransom and Holster are starting to look askance at both of them. Jack doesn’t know how to fix it, so he ignores it and hopes it goes away.

It doesn’t go away, unfortunately, and their second practice of the spring semester is an unqualified disaster. Jack can hardly meet Bitty’s eyes, let alone hit him with a pass, and their lack of chemistry throws the whole team out of whack. It doesn’t exactly come as a shock that when Coach Hall blows the whistle to end practice, he asks Jack and Bitty to stay behind.

“I don’t know _what_ that was out there,” he says, after several moments of silence have gone by. Jack has been fighting the urge to stare at his feet and forcing himself to meet Coach’s eyes ever since they were called over, and has to bite the inside of his cheek at this to keep his expression stoic. “But whatever’s going on with the two of you, I expect you to sort it out. I don’t care if you’re having personal troubles - you keep that off the ice. Is that clear?” He meets each of their eyes in turn.

“Yes sir,” Jack says, flushing with shame as his voice cracks on the “sir.” Bitty echoes him softly and Coach Hall gives them both a long look before nodding.

“Go on, then,” he says, and they flee to the locker room without making eye contact. The rest of the team has already hit the showers, so he and Bitty strip down in silence and hit the showers themselves just as the rest of the team are starting to come out.

Jack seriously contemplates just never leaving the showers. Pros: Not having to talk to Bitty, not having to write his thesis, not having to deal with disappointing Coach Hall, not having to deal with pressure from his father to think about his future. Cons: No food, and the hot water will run out eventually.

He makes it out of the showers before the hot water runs out, barely. The rest of the team has cleared out of the locker room already, so he and Bitty are alone as they get changed. Jack finishes getting dressed first and is hit hard with the urge to run away and hide in his room and never come out. He takes a deep breath, and sets his shoulders. Part of being Captain means that he has to deal with problems affecting the team, even when he’s part of one. Even when he doesn’t want to.

“So,” he says, putting one hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I guess we should talk.”

“Oh, so _now_ you want to talk,” Bitty says, putting his hands on his hips. He seems to have forgotten that he hadn’t put his shirt on yet, and it’s dangling from one hand. “Are you sure? You’re really sure? You don’t want to ignore me for another week?”

Jack winces. “I wasn’t _ignoring_ you,” he protests (lies). Bitty stares at him in disbelief.

“Don’t _even_ try that with me, Jack Zimmermann,” he says, and now he sounds angry, instead of just sarcastic. “You absolutely were ignoring me. Why? What did I do?” he demands.

“Nothing! It wasn’t you - you didn’t do anything,” Jack says wretchedly, staring at the floor in an effort not to stare at Bitty’s still-naked chest.

“Oh, so it’s not me, it’s you? ‘Scuse you, Jack, but _something_ happened - you had no problem bossing me around when I was sick.” Bitty’s tapping the floor with one foot. Jack risks a glance up at his face - he’s scowling.

“I think we should break up,” he blurts, and wants to stuff the words back in his mouth as soon as they come out. His mouth keeps running without his permission. “It’s messing with the team.”

Bitty’s eyebrows come together with an almost audible click. “It was _your_ idea to _pretend_ to be dating in the first place,” he says, stressing the “pretend” as he marches over and pokes Jack in the chest with an accusatory finger. “And it didn’t do a thing to the team before Christmas break, so try again, buster.”

With Bitty standing right in front of him and his back against his locker, there’s really nowhere for Jack to go, which is bad because he’d really like to run away right now. “That was before,” he mutters, and Bitty pokes him in the chest again.

“Before what?” he asks, aggravated, and Jack heaves a frustrated sigh.

“Before I figured out I had _feelings_ , okay? So - it’s just a bad idea, and we should break up. Can I go now? I need a head start on Ransom and Holster, they’re probably going to try and break my face.”

He makes a move to get out from between Bitty and his locker, but Bitty reaches out and shoves him back. It doesn’t really do anything - Bitty’s strong, sure, but Jack’s got almost 6 inches and 75 pounds on him - but Jack freezes.

“What feelings?” Bitty demands, and Jack is staring at the door, desperately wishing to be somewhere else. Bitty hits him in the chest again when he doesn’t answer fast enough. “Ugh, you’d _deserve_ it if Ransom and Holster tried to break your face. What. Feelings?”

Jack’s entire face is slowly turning crimson, and every part of him is on fire with the urge to run. “I like you,” he mumbles, and Bitty raises an eyebrow at him.

“Didn’t catch that,” he says, and Jack scowls at him.

“I said I _like_ you, okay,” he says. “And I’m working on it - I’m sure I’ll get over it, you just need to-”

“Shut up,” Bitty says, and Jack snaps his mouth shut. “God, you just - you are _completely unbelievable_ , Jack Zimmermann.”

“I’m - sorry?” Jack hazards, which has Bitty biting back what sounds suspiciously like a snicker.

“And you’re so _Canadian_. You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?”

Jack frowns, lost. “You’ve known I was Canadian,” he points out, and Bitty rolls his eyes.

“Not what I was talking about. You _like_ me. You couldn’t have mentioned it? No, of course not,” he interrupts himself. “You’re allergic to feelings. Me too.”

Jack’s still lost. “You’re not allergic to feelings,” he says, and Bitty lets out a huge sigh.

“No, you moron. I like you too,” he says, slow, and Jack blinks. There’s something strange going on in his chest.

“Oh,” he says, and Bitty looks heavenward.

“This is what every conversation about feelings is going to be like with you, isn’t it,” he asks, but it sounds resigned and fond, so Jack feels cautiously optimistic.

“Probably,” he agrees. Bitty smiles up at him and Jack smiles back, helplessly. Something in his chest is doing somersaults. It feels suspiciously like his heart.

“Yo, Bits! Are you coming to lunch or -” Shitty sticks his head back into the locker room just then and cuts himself off. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows salaciously. Bitty flushes and seems to remember that he’s still holding his shirt and fumbles to put it on. Jack just looks at Shitty.

“Yes,” he says, and Shitty’s eyebrows go up.

“Right on, bro,” he says, and pulls his head back out of the locker room. Jack looks down at Bitty, who’s fully dressed now and still blushing.

“You ready for lunch?” he asks, and holds out his hand. Bitty takes it with a blinding smile, and they go to join the team in the dining hall.

0o0o0o0o0

There is a sudden release of tension when Jack and Bitty walk up to the team’s table in the dining hall holding hands. Dex and Chowder poke each other, wide-eyed, and Ransom and Holster fist bump each other, not even bothering to be subtle about it. Shitty, seated next to Lardo towards the head of the table, beams at all of them as Lardo rolls her eyes and reaches across the table to flick Jack hard on the ear once he’s sat down.

“That’s what you get for being a dumbass,” she informs him before going back to her food. Jack shrugs, rubbing at his ear, and concedes the point as Bitty stares at her, betrayed.

“You knew! And you didn’t say anything?” Lardo shrugs, taking a bite of her bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

“I was going to if he hadn’t gotten his shit together by the next practice,” she says after she swallows it. “I’m glad it worked out.”

There’s not really anything Bitty can say to that, so he subsides into a pout until Jack points out that his omelette is getting cold. The back of Jack’s neck and his ears feel like they’re on fire, but he’s in such a good mood that it doesn’t bother him like it usually would. He floats through lunch, half of his attention on his food, and the other half on the way Bitty has hooked their ankles together under the table.

“So,” Shitty says, coming up behind Jack as he takes his and Bitty’s dishes over to the dish return and hooking an arm around his shoulders. Jack ducks down automatically the way he always does when Shitty does this, to make it less awkward for both of them. “Now that you’ve gotten over whatever weird fight the two of you were having, you’re taking Bits out on a real date, right?”

Jack freezes. “Um,” he says, and Shitty pulls away, a frown on his face.

“You _have_ gotten over whatever weird fight you were having, haven’t you? Otherwise that - “ he jerks a thumb back at the lunch table, “makes no sense at all.”

“No, we have, we just - “ Jack swallows. “Shits, we weren’t. Like, dating. Before.”

Shitty tilts his head, his forehead wrinkling. “Uh, yeah. I know.”

“You know?” Jack blinks, startled. “You - what?”

Shitty shrugs. “I figured it out after a day or two, bro. You always looked like you had no idea what to do when he was touching you - but you’d also managed to unclench, and you were like, way happier, so. I like to let the good things be.”

“I - “ Jack isn’t sure how to process this information. Shitty looks like he’s laughing at Jack behind the mustache, and Jack eventually realizes it’s because he’s standing stock still a meter or so away from the dish return still holding all of his and Bitty’s dishes. He jerks into motion again, his mind whirring as he puts the dishes down on automatic. Finally he looks back at Shitty. “I am happy,” he says, simply, and Shitty’s smirk softens into a genuine smile.

“I’m glad, bro,” he says, slinging an arm around Jack’s shoulders again. “Now, about that date.”

And that’s how Jack ends up dressed in his nicest turtleneck later that night, leaning against Bitty’s door while he fusses with the collar of his shirt. “We’re going to be late,” he says, amused.

Bitty wrinkles his nose at him in the mirror. “We are _not_ , and even if we are late we’ll just miss the previews,” he says dismissively. Jack sighs.

“Bittle, I _like_ the previews,” he says, to which Bitty just laughs. But he does stop messing with his collar, and grabs his phone and wallet.

“Ready?” Jack asks, looking down at him. Bitty nods. “You’re _sure?_ ” Jack asks, again, teasing, and Bitty just grabs his hand and starts towing him down the stairs.

“I thought you were worried that we were going to be _late_ ,” he says. Jack snags Bitty’s hat and scarf from the table in the front hall and hands them over before putting on his own and grabbing his jacket. Bitty tucks their gloved hands together once they’re outside and Jack hangs on until they get to the car.

“Oh - I forgot,” Jack says once they’re on their way to the movie theater. “Shitty told me today that he knew all along that we weren’t actually dating.”

Bitty looks startled for a moment, and then thoughtful. “He didn’t say anything,” he says, and Jack stares at the road as he pulls into the movie theater parking lot and parks the car, not wanting to look Bitty in the face.

“He said that he didn’t say anything because I seemed happy,” he mutters eventually. The car is silent for a moment, and Jack finally looks over at Bitty, whose eyes are shining. “I am,” he says, even though it seems totally obvious - of course he’s happy with Bitty, who is basically the human embodiment of sunshine.

“Oh,” Bitty says, before flinging himself out of the car and running around it to yank open Jack’s door. Jack opens his mouth to say something - he’s not sure what - but Bitty throws his arms around him and kisses him before he can say anything, almost climbing into his lap. Jack is still for a second, surprised, before he melts into the kiss, bringing his arms up so that he’s holding Bitty just as tightly.

“You make me happy too,” Bitty says, after several long moments. “Now c’mon, _Interstellar_ ’s supposed to be good.” He grabs Jack’s hand and drags him into the movie theater. Jack follows him, biting back a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to the mods for running this challenge, and to Ngozi for creating the amazing comic in the first place! If you haven't read it, you really should. :D
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies: I own nothing, I make no money, etc, etc. I can also be found at [accidentallymelted](http://accidentallymelted.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, where I reblog a lot of random things and sometimes post writing updates, fic snippets or requests for prompts. Feel free to come say hi!


End file.
